Walking After Midnight
by Willihem
Summary: AU set in a world where human trafficking and such related things are an excepted part of society. prostitute!Dean, non-related Wincest, bdsm
1. Walking After Midnight

Title: Walking After Midnight  
>Series: Supernatural<br>Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, mentions of Sam/Gabriel  
>Summary: AU set in a world where human trafficking and such related thing are an excepted part of society. prostitute!Dean, Wincest, all the good stuff<br>Warnings: there's gonna be stuff. mentions of noncon, rough sex, kinky things...

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><p>Dean made his way to his place in the line. There was a potential client coming to examine the merchandise today, and he was dressed in his best along with his fellows, filing into the familiar white walled room for the presentation. They kept quiet, pleasant expressions on their faces as they padded to their places and stood, staring forward and waiting until the last of them was in the room, the door shutting with a soft click.<p>

His heart pounded. Today was important. The client was said to be a new comer, one who had never been part of the business. Making a sale was top priority, so everything had to go perfect. It also meant that he was a competitor against the rest of his partners. Must present well, must bring them back, must sell sell sell.

The wall opposite him was a full length, ceiling to floor wall to wall one-way mirror. He knew behind that deceptive, reflective surface was another room with his boss and the client, along with advisers and a secretary or two. In the room he was in now he could see one of the handlers walking down the line in the mirror, showing them off to their hidden buyer. His turn was coming up, so he stood at attention to wait.

When the muscled, tan skinned handler came to stand just off to his side, he smirked. Giving a wink toward the sharply dressed version of himself in the mirror, he stepped forward into the space in front of the man. He was about to have himself showed off when the loud speaker crackled into life.

"That one. Number 11. The client wants 11." Dean quirked an eyebrow. This was definitely a first. Usually there was a longer deliberation than just "that one." Mossy green eyes shifted around the room, waiting to see if there was any more instruction. The handler was pointing to his head, and when an affirmative bristled through the speakers, he was escorted out.

Now he was curious. Who see's almost all the options and goes with the fifth one from the end, without him being displayed, or looking at any of the others?

As soon as the door was closed, his handler began taking his suit off, as was the way things worked. Modest, sharp tux on the outside, the real outfit underneath. The door left of them hurriedly opened, the boss rushing out.

"Clothes on! The costumer is now the owner! Number 11 was bought and sold completely from us. So HANDS OFF, MARCO!" the handler quickly began redressing the now thoroughly confused male. The dark haired man's fingers twitched with regret as he hid the well toned body beneath the concealing fabric; another, more unspoken and taboo way of process was the alone time Marco was awarded with each purchase, a secret, forced groping of the goods before handing them over to the customer. Dean had never liked those, had flinched at hearing about Marco's co-position as the trainer for the fresh meat. Those poor, way too young boys were in a position he didn't envy, under the tutelage of such a man.

Soon another, much taller individual excited the viewing room, and Dean lost his breath.

The man was young, somewhere in his twenties, with slightly long hair and shining hazel eyes that did funny things to Dean's knees. He was tall, taller than all the men around him, and had broad shoulders to fit with the lean body he tried to cover up with the two piece suit he was sporting. For some reason his face reminded Dean of a puppy, the soft yet angular shape to his jaw and nose not with standing. Right now his face resembled that of an angry doberman, glaring viciously at the dark haired man still trying to redress him, lingering by adjusting his tie. In only two steps the client had crossed to them and had one of his giant paws gripping Marco's forearm.

"I believe you were told _not. to. touch_." soft smooth and deep, there was a threatening undertone in it that voice that left Dean to stand there like an idiot and salivate at having those massive hands touching him, that voice in his ear. And for once, he didn't hate this life. Not the way his body had been sold to men for pleasure and pain alike, not the way he'd had to comfort the smaller boys after they'd had their night sold to some kinky son of a bitch, not even the fact that he was treated as a possession. All that had lead up to this strange, sasquatch of a man now being the one who solely owned him.

Tonight was looking to be enjoyable.


	2. Hide and Seek Blues

Chapter Title: Hide and Seek Blues  
>Series: Supernatural<br>Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, mentions of Sam/Gabriel  
>Summary: AU set in a world where human trafficking and such related thing are an excepted part of society. prostitute!Dean, Wincest, all the good stuff<br>Warnings: there's gonna be stuff. mentions of noncon, rough sex, kinky things...

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><p><em>The walls were an indiscernible color, due to the enthusiastically flashing lights in the wide, crowd filled room. They might have been puce for all he cared.<em>

_He hated this place anyway._

_He also hated the smell permeating the hot, too hot club. Sex, smoke, sex, sweat, sex, alcohol, sex...people were gathered in a tight, giant crowd on the dance floor, rubbing and rutting against each other in obscene, disgusting ways that he didn't think counted as dancing._

_He also hated the music. It was some techno slur with a rhythmic beat that made his chest hurt from the excessive amounts of bass the speakers were kicked up to. He thought he might recognize this song, but it was so mixed and cut that it was unrecognizable._

_He hated the liquor, the heady taste it had without the burn he needed and the too warm feeling he got in his belly and cheeks from drinking it. He knew it was more than likely drugged, but his training had built an immunity in his body from most date rape drugs along with a couple poisons (you'd be surprised how handy that really is; some sickos got off on killing and/or raping the dead body.)_

_"Strip." one of the ugly men in his company had decided what he wanted. Great, he had a beard. Dean blanched and tried to cover it up with shyness. Maybe they'd go for that?_

_He stifled a sigh, instead getting up and beginning to undo his shirt buttons. He could feel eyes on him, prying, hungry, possessive, predatory, sick sick sick._

_The material fell to the floor, his unmarked, blemish free torso and arms exposed to the steamy air, his skin flecked by the disco lights sweeping around the room. He felt as if the dirty, polluted air in the joint was sticking to his skin and tainting it. Note to self, scrub with brillo pads after this._

_He began unfastening his jeans, much to the raunchy delight of his customers. He bit back a shiver. God he hated these men..._

_But as he slid the soft trousers down his legs, he realized what he hated most. Not the room, the club, the people, the drinks, the smell, not even the music compared to this one thing he hated the most._

_Dean held his head up, sauntering over to the man who seemed to be the taker, straddling the man's massive thighs as he sat in the bearded man's lap. He tried not to think about how big the man must be, how much it was going to hurt. He tried not to cringe away when the man started to touch him, his hair, his cheek, lips, neck, chest, lower, lower..._

_And he closed his eyes when the man touched him, covered it up with a well practiced moan he didn't mean. Pretended he liked it. Tried not to cry as he thought of what was yet to come._

_And all the while he kept the one thing he hated the most at his forefront. Reminded himself with every pull from the man's hand._

_Because one should never love a whore._

Dean sat outside his new master's door with perfect posture. His hands were clasped behind his back loosely, he had his head bowed, and he was kneeling with his legs wide spread. His newly gained collar was locked around his neck, a chain leash clipped to its front O-ring ascending to the track placed on the ceiling. Another, shorter leash was also attached to the front of his collar, this one leather and threaded between his legs, a pair of cuffs laced through the leash handle and placed on his wrists at his back. And the piece de resistance? A leather blind fold with silk on the side that rested against his brow and cheek bones.

What a perfect ensemble, if the way his cock was already heavy with the possibilities was any clue.

And it would have been even better, if his said new owner had taken advantage of his state. But as soon as the equipment had been put into place, carefully, the blind fold being the last thing on, Sam (which was the man's name, Sam Wesson) had left him with no orders. Dean had stood looking befuddled for a while, waiting to find out what orders would come next. They never came, and so he had felt his way gingerly to where he assumed Sam's bedroom door was (because neither had he been given orders to stay) and, after testing the length of the leash connected to the ceiling track, had knelt like a good pet next to the door.

Hence the inner sulk he was having, thoughts racing through his brain, trying to understand what he was meant to do as the rain cloud above his head grew bigger and denser. He wouldn't be surprised if at some point it opened up and drenched him in his own mini thunderstorm.

Was his new owner not pleased with his purchase? Had he been too hasty, as everyone had thought? Did he not buy him for such activities?

He perked as the door opened beside him, the smell that had intoxicated him in the limo ride here drowning him yet again in over sensory as a gust of air washed over him. He could hear the rub of denim as the long legs of his master strode on past. There was no acknowledging touch, no verbal affirmation, not even the feeling of those hazel eyes giving him a passing glance.

Dean sunk deeper into his pity party.

Three days. Three days was how long he'd been left to himself. The only way to track it was through meals, which were delicious and fed to him carefully, with as little contact as possible, by his master, on the hour for every meal. Nine meals after he'd come to stay, and finally, mercifully, his master had touched him.

He'd begun to wonder if he was meant as a decoration, something you bought and sat on a shelf that you just happened to have to feed regularly. After the first day and the anxiety he'd endured, then came the second day and with it had come silence. Utter, complete silence. Wordless guiding from gloved hands earned him full balanced meals, silence pressed on his ear drums for every second that ticked by in the painfully long day. Then came the third day, where he'd eaten without any touch. That was worse than the silence.

But then came the morning of the fourth day since coming to this place, forced to kneel at his master's door with secret stretch breaks so he'd be ready at any time, leaning against the door frame to take short, frequent naps out of pure necessity. Forced to sit obediently through silence and touch withdrawals. And then the fourth day...

He had to admit, he had a clever, intelligent master. He'd never thought that this was what he'd had in mind.

The touch had been feather light, and had his skin not been so over sensitized, he probably wouldn't have noticed. But his skin had had little to no contact for days, and the finger tip that tickled the hairs along his jaw left a trail of fire in its wake. He tried not to faint from delight.

Then that finger turned into a warm, gentle hand that cupped his cheek. He turned into the touch without thought, whimpering at the pleasure it gave to attention starved nerves. The hand was big, covering the whole side of his face, a finger stroking at his temple soothingly. He wanted to kiss the palm of it, show gratitude, but as quickly as it'd come it was gone. Dean whimpered again, this time from loss.

Lips pressed themselves to his, soft and fleeting, and he felt the pleasure all the way down into his toes. He shivered, raw before the man, his master, . He tried to follow those lips as they pulled away, but was held still by a hand to his still clothed chest. Suddenly his clothes were a curse, he wanted them off. Gone were the days he hated being seen, being touched. This man had stood there in the agency, strong and powerful, and had tugged on his libido in a way no other person had.

And now he was playing with him. And Dean would gladly take anything he was given, as long as it was given by this master, his master.

Warmth breathed near his cheek, and he leaned toward it slightly. He could hear the man's breath, even and calm as he brought his lips just shy of Dean's ear.

"Time for a walk, pet." the voice was soft in his ear, quiet and endearing as hands came to release his cuffs and unclasping the leather leash from his collar. Dean left them where they were, though, which seemed to earn him a kiss to the forehead, an action he relished as much as his master's voice.

Hands gently brought him to a standing position, lingering against his upper arms to test his stability, then they were gone. The leash still attached to the track above him tugged him forward gently, and he knew without sight that his master was guiding him like a beloved, blind dog into the room he'd stayed outside of for three days.

He felt his brow furrow against his blind fold, though, when he was not taken to the bed. Instead, he was lead into a smaller, cooler room that he immediately placed as the master bathroom. When that thought settled in, the words his master had spoken to him made sense (now that he wasn't over whelmed with joy at hearing them.) And he felt the result of three days starting to scream at him.

Oh. A walk.

He stopped when he was signaled through two tugs of his leash, waiting for further instructions from his master. His master had other plans.

A warm body pressed into his back, long arms circling his body like a cautious bear. Skilled hands were already at his pants front, deft fingers had his member out of the confining slacks in a heart beat, a palm curled around the underside, a large, tender thumb aiming on the top.

Dean was having difficulties concentrating with the pleasure induced tremors rattling through his body. The heat of the man behind him was seeping through his clothing, saturating him in lavish attention. And he wasn't even going to attempt to put into words what that hand down south was doing to every nerve ending in his body.

But somehow the goal was achieved, because as soon as his master whispered "Go." into his ear he felt the built up tension in his bladder release, his master's aim spot on as he heard the success ripple into the toilet.

Who knew just going to the restroom could be so erotic? If this was the treatment he got for such a mundane task, he couldn't wait for the not so mundane.


	3. Talk with Your Hands

Chapter Title: Talk With Your Hands  
>Series: Supernatural<br>Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, mentions of Sam/Gabriel (later)  
>Summary: AU set in a world where human trafficking and such related thing are an excepted part of society. prostitute!Dean, Wincest, all the good stuff<br>Warnings: there's gonna be stuff. mentions of noncon, rough sex, kinky things...

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><p>After they were done in the bathroom and all that entails without removing a single article of clothing, (having one's teeth brushed while blindfolded and nursing the arousal coiling in your groin is quite the interesting feat), he was once again being lead by his leash. He couldn't help the little tremors of excitement that kept racing down the length of his spine. The entire time they'd been in the restroom, Sam (Dean really wanted to try out his name, make it endearing somehow. Sammy, perhaps?) had been tracing patterns over the fronts of his clothed thighs and doing wonderful things with every placement of pressure. Really, it was a wonder that Dean could even walk (though with the way his knees were turned into jello that could easily be taken care of.)<p>

He was lead to what he assumed was the bed, theory becoming fact when he felt his knees sink into the mattress as he struggled to obey the leash that was now urging him to kneel on the bedding. He felt the leash go slack, and waited for any further instruction as he strained his ears to try and hear where his master was.

Gentle, barely there hands turned him around and unclasped the leash from his collar, and he heard it slide along the track to about the end of the bed. The hands grew more prominent as they smoothed up the front of his torso and under his suit jacket, sliding it off with hands following down his arms, catching his own hands and tugging him forward into a broad chest.

He felt it in his master's body when Sam tossed the jacket off to the left somewhere, gasping softly when lips kissed just below his blindfold. The lips trailed down as fingers worked at his shirt buttons, stealing away his breath and calling forth small, non-masculine noises of bliss as kisses were trickled down his neck and progressively exposed chest. Dean was sure his expression was even more unmanly, but his head was too hazy to care, brain turning to mush when lips caressed just shy of a nipple.

When the buttons were completely undone his wrists were lifted up, one by one, to his masters lips. The cuffs were taken off, while long sucking kisses were settled onto the pulse point of his wrists, leaving him panting as each movement of Sam's mouth hot wired itself to his pants. The shirt was then gone, thrown over to lay forgotten with its mate, hands exploring his body further. He felt them follow the curve and dips in his sides and hips, flatten against his stomach muscles, then feel over the expanse of his chest before rounding beneath his arms and finding his back, tracing his finger tips around his shoulder blades and pulling him once again into that broad, intoxicating chest as patterns were left along his spine.

Dean was using the warm body as a crutch, not able to hold himself upright with the pleasure as it pulsed from his masters hands and into his body. He jumped when one of those large hands cupped around his buttocks, startling a moan from him when it dipped further in between his legs and rubbed. His back arched, ass sticking out like the whore he was trained to be, and earned himself a chuckle as the hand dipped yet again, further, and gave friction to his pants front. Dean shuddered, squirming for more when the hand removed itself and slid back to grope his ass, pushing him upright so his chin tucked over Sam's shoulder.

Fingers carded through the short hairs on the back of his neck, a hand cupping his head as the other wrapped about his waist and carefully lowered him back to the bed. He pressed into the powerful body above his, but was soon alone on the covers, nerves tracking the movements in the mattress until he felt his pants front opened and the garment yanked out from under him. He hissed as cold air greeted his painfully hard member, bowing heavily from three days worth of need and denial. He felt himself flush at his vulnerability, spread out naked for this man to see, flesh betraying him and broadcasting what he was for those beautiful hazel eyes to see.

He wished he had always belonged to this man. He wished that it had been Sam who had found hm and taken him in off the streets, instead of the brothel. He wished Sam had kissed away the scars and held him gently through sleepless nights, instead of the fear being, none too gently, persuaded out of him and the scars forcibly removed with one surgery after another. He wished he could have grown up with Sam, had become someone truly special to him, instead of just being a thing to be bought and possessed. He wished Sam had been the one he'd had his first time with, instead of some nameless instructor who touched him much too gently, prepared him much too thoroughly, and gave him the wrong impression about how clients would fuck him.

He wished so much in that one instant that tears welled up in his closed eyes, leaking out only to be soaked in by the blindfold. He trembled with the remorse, flinching when he felt hands, big and warm, cup his face and thumbs rub soothingly over his cheeks. He then noticed the ache in his chin and jaw, which had been clenched too tightly from trying to hold back the tears, and tried to wipe his mind of the aching thoughts.

When the lips pressed against his, he found the task much easier, melting into his responding kiss and blushing when one of those ever gentle hands trailed lightly down his torso and wrapped around his still erect cock. He moaned against his master's lips, bucking his hips into the man's hand and shuddered violently at the pleasure. The hand worked him slowly, still keeping him on the edge, and matching his hips movements teasingly, so no satisfaction could be won. Dean was slack jawed, panting between the head-spinning kisses he was receiving, and mewling when a thumb would rub over the crown of his cock.

He doesn't know how he's managed to keep his hands to himself but, by the way he's white knuckling the comforter, he's actually proud of himself. He struggles to still his hips, wanting to earn a praise for his ability to restrain himself, when both the kisses and the hand is gone. Dean pouts, trembling with effort not to just wrap himself around the man and rut against him till he came, and waits impatiently for whatever came next.


	4. I Love it When You

A/N: what? what? OMG! sooo many story alerts and favorites! you guys...are awesome! so i was just sitting around with nothing to do one day, so i go check my e-mails and WHAT? love all of you~!  
>so, Touta Matsuda , this soon enough? XD<p>

Chapter Title: I Love it When You  
>Series: Supernatural<br>Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, mentions of Sam/Gabriel (later)  
>Summary: AU set in a world where human trafficking and such related thing are an excepted part of society. prostitute!Dean, Wincest, all the good stuff<br>Warnings: there's gonna be stuff. mentions of noncon, rough sex, kinky things...

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><p>Chapter 4<p>

Sam was pretty sure he had made the right choice. Screw "waiting until he'd seen them all" or "narrowing down the choice by process of elimination". This was the best investment he'd ever made in his entire life! And that included the business he'd started that lead to his success.

He smiled down at the beautiful man laid out for his enjoyment and felt a rush of possession shudder through his being. No one else would ever touch his prize ever again. No one would set their eyes on that smooth, tanned skin that now shivered with anticipation and want.

As if to prove it was true, he traced a finger along the inside of his pet's thigh, licking his lips at the way he arched in reaction. Crawling up between the short haired man's legs, Sam reached up and cupped a perfect square jaw and caressed his thumb beneath the blindfold. It occurred to him then, that he still didn't know the man's name.

"Hey," he kissed his pet, relishing the shiver his voice caused in the body beneath his. "What's your name?"

The man opened his mouth, than seemed to falter, closing it again. He repeated the action before finally answering. "Whatever you want, Master." it seemed as if he had wanted to say something else, but held it to himself on principle. He was a pet, after all.

"Then I'll call you...Gabriel... Gabe..." He tested. It was the only name he could think of, the only one at this point he'd want to use, even though he knew it was unfair...

Giving your pet your ex's name was cheesy anyway.

The man below him grimaced at the name before schooling his features into acceptance. Sam tried out the name by whispering it, but it tasted bad on his tongue, and it didn't seem to fit the man below him. Finally he gave up on the name, kissing his pet once again, this time in apology.

"What's your real name?" he might as well use his real name. He wasn't going to ever get rid of this perfect being.

The man seemed confused by the request, but still answered obediently. "Dean."

Sam couldn't quite explain the spark that name sent down his spine, so he simply acted on it by drowning his pet with kisses. Dean kissed back with vigor, even venturing a soft nibble at Sam's lower lip and being rewarded by Sam growling out his name. This, in turn, did pleasant things to Dean's already trembling body, if the very loud moan he emitted was anything to go by.

Sam placed open mouthed kisses down a salt sweetened neck, sucking when he felt a pulse and biting when Dean reacted pleasurably. The journey down his pet's body was a long, drawn out process, with him occasionally leaning up to steal a kiss from passion reddened lips. He made extra care to cover every reachable inch with his lips, mapping out that well built surface with his eyes closed.

Every so often he felt the barely there raise of scar tissue, smooth and well hidden on the tanned skin. He paid special attention to these, tracing them with him lips and tongue and leaving a row of kisses along the marks. Dean writhed in bliss at each new found scar, moaning a mixture of Sam's name and title.

It was when he reached a particularly prominent marking, located in the dip of Dean's hip, that Dean flinched with a gasp, fingers pulling at the sheets a little too harshly. A cautious pressing of his lips to the mark drew out a pained whimper, the lithe body beneath him pulling away ever so slightly and pressing into the sheets. Dean hissed, gritting his teeth yet staying still and silent; like a good little pet.

Sam frowned down at the scar, bringing a finger tip to lightly follow the jagged outline that contrasted against the other, much cleaner lines hidden with strategic placement and precision. It gave him a sick feeling in his stomach, and he painted the faint pink patch of raised skin gently with his tongue. At first Dean's reaction was one of pain, but the lower Sam's tongue traveled the faster he drew out a moan from his pet.

Though, his proximity to a certain other area of Dean's body might have had more to do with that.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he peered up at the beautiful face above him, head turning as he opened his mouth and licked along the side of the strained member, chuckling when Dean could only manage choked, strangled sounds of bliss. As he finally wrapped his lips around the leaking head, Dean arching off the bed with a colorful string of vocabulary, he knew that this. This was real.

And totally worth $50,000.

Dean either wanted to strangle the man, or pleasure his master as best he could. He was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his hands to himself with each pull from Sam's lips, and was pretty sure that with each torturous swirl of the tongue along his over heated flesh, he was going to give up and come right then. But every time he came close to the edge, Sam backed off and massaged gently with his tongue on the underside as if to say: 'Not yet, my pet, you wont be satisfied yet.'

What might have been worse, though, was the realization that he only became even more unbearably turned on by the teasing. He found himself wanting to beg for release; to do whatever it took to convince his master to . Dean was slowly loosing his control, hips betraying him and giving small rocks into his master's hot, inviting mouth that easily swallowed him down. He was writhing slightly and emitting embarrassing sounds that seemed to only urged Sam to either deep throat him or give his suffering member a powerful suck.

Dean did groan, however, when a finger walked itself up his chest to his mouth, tapping at his lips in a silent command that he obeyed instantly, opening his mouth for the digit to slide in. He lapped at the intruding finger, blushing at the obscene noises his own voice and tongue were making as he coated first one, and then another long digit with his saliva.

Sam waited until the fingers were thoroughly slicked, and Dean's knees were bending as his toes curled, before sliding his hand back down Dean's body and trailing a finger tip around to the yet unexplored pucker of his entrance. This made him writhe and arch up, hips rolling in invitation as he heard himself pleading for more. When his master finally pressed the finger in there was an accompanying suck to his length, leaving him dizzy and gasping for air.

The finger was slow and gentle, working in and out in long thrusts in preparation for the second finger that slid in soon after. They scissored, and Dean cried out. A particularly deep thrust reduced him to soft whimpers. He felt himself being prepared, and licked his lips in anticipation of his master. He wanted the man inside him, filling him, fucking him till he came.

He groaned when the hot mouth left, his weeping member greeted by lonely air, and whined when his master's fingers too, were gone. He sighed, without thinking, and earned himself a quiet chuckle from Sam. The sound came from beside him, and he recognized the scrape of a drawer being pulled open.

Oh, toys? Goody. Dean couldn't help the slack jawed smirk that plastered itself onto his face at the thought. No one had ever played with him so thoroughly; taken their time in sexing him up.

He heard the drawer slide shut again and fought to hold back a giggle.

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><p>AN: so, if you guys have any requests for what you wanna see featured in this story, go ahead! i'm totally open to suggestions and pleasing the fans of this story. right now i'm getting requests from my beta, so don't feel shy to tell me what naughty naughty things you want Sam to do to Dean (or visa versa!)


	5. Carnival of Rust

A/N: HO-LY CRAP! This took soooo long to get out. I literally had to give my brain a major talking to, scolding it, then took it out back to spank some sense into it when it gave me lip.

so. yay new chapter! are you guys excited? I am. I really hope you like it since this took forever to finally type out. If you're disappointed in any way...well, hopefully next chap will be better (which is going to be a story chap, with actual dialog -le gasp!-)

thanks to nympha fluminis, frostygossamer, Touta Matsuda, DeansMuse for your comments and feed back! sorry again for the wait!

Chapter Title: Carnival of Rust  
>Series: Supernatural<br>Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, mentions of Sam/Gabriel  
>Summary: AU set in a world where human trafficking and such related thing are an excepted part of society. prostitute!Dean, Wincest, all the good stuff<br>Warnings: there's gonna be stuff. mentions of noncon, rough sex, kinky things, bdsm, underage, actual plot (wutwut), sex, CBT... this list's probably gonna grow with each chap so hold on to your hats.

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><p>Dean waits impatiently for his master's touch. He's practically trembling in desire; wanting the man to get the fuck over here and start playing with him right the fuck now.<p>

So when Sam's voice cuts through the silence with a low: "on your knees, whore", it's only natural that Dean nearly falls off the damn bed in his attempt to please his master's demand. A hand gripped his jaw, coaxing him forward until he's near the foot of the bed (though, at this point, he could only guess). A warm body was near his face, and he wanted to press his face against it; to lick and suck and pleasure.

After all, he knows what he's doing.

As the hand holding his head begins to lower his face, the other one smooths down his spine, making his back arch and ass stick up so he has to catch himself on all fours. He can feel something held in that hand, and cants his hips backwards for it, earning himself another command.

"Undo my pants, you filthy little slut." Dean shivers at how even when the man's voice is dark with lust and possession it still somehow comes off as an endearment. Wow now that's messed up...

To go with that thought, he decides that undoing another's pants with one's hands is...monotonous. So, instead, he cranes his neck forward and slides his tongue out to feel for the button. Once found it's only a matter of wrapping his teeth around the flap and tugging it just-so until the button unhooks from its hole and he's halfway there. A simple search for the zipper and he's working it down its track with his teeth. He hears Sam grunt with approval above him, at his success, and moves forward with an open mouth to find and lap at his master's erection through the fabric of his underwear.

A hand's palming his ass, dirty words of praise filling the room as Dean shows off his oral talents by freeing Sam from his offensive apparel. Well, as much as it counts anyway.

There's no need for instructions on this. Dean was always good at this part of his training, had always been an avid cock worshiper. So when he's pulled out of reach he can't help the whine that escapes from his throat. Sam only huffs out a laugh and tosses out a: "naughty little boy wants his cock?" before he pulled something from what Dean assumed was a pants pocket.

Three things happened at once. In one instant Sam managed to thrust his cock into Dean's still open mouth, slip a cool, smooth object up his ass, and then said object began to vibrate. Dean let out a moan, closing his lips around his master's member so the vibrations won't go to waste.

Shivers were now racking through his body, both from the salivating size of Sam's length that he was now happily swallowing down, and from the bullet up his ass that would press against his prostrate if he shifted his hips just right. Which he did. Repeatedly.

Yet another object was rubbing against his cheek, and he could really care less at this point, because he can taste his master's pre-cum, (and that shouldn't make him so happy but it does) so he pulls off to the tip and begins sucking and licking like the needy mess he's been reduced to. He nearly looses it when Sam moans from above him. God that man sounded delicious. He wanted to continue with his ministrations, but about that moment Sam had his fingers combing through his hair and pulling Dean's mouth out of range of his prize. He mouthed after it, lips opening and closing uselessly as he was now more aware of the sensations happening down south and ohgodhowdidhenotfeelthat and it was thanks to extensive training that he could hold himself back.

He vaguely registered to the fact that he was being laid back out again, and then the world melted as Sam's lips were kissing him again, and Dean's pretty sure he's gonna loose it but then they're gone again. He can feel something being slid over and down his painfully hard length. When it secures at the base and around his balls, pulling them from his body, and he can't help the soft curse that falls from his lips.

His master really was going to be the best ever. Once he got used to denial, of course.

Groaning, he felt Sam's hands on him, making his skin much too warm and tingling, and causing him to arch up into the touch. Lips followed after, kissing and caressing and sucking over his flesh, probably marking, and Dean just felt more aroused by the thought of it (though at this point he's surprised he could get any more aroused). Pretty soon every inch of his body has been cataloged once again by Sam's lips. And then a finger is pressing up into him, pushing the vibrating...whatever it is, deeper before pulling out again and thrusting back in.

Of course this causes Dean to press back, too far gone to care. He just wants the man to fuck him. He starts to beg, panted 'please's and whimpered 'master's filing the air and then the fingers are slipping out and something bigger is teasing at his entrance yesfuckmetakemeSammyplease and then it's sliding in, bigger than he thought, inching into him, until it's pressing against the vibrating, devilish item and Sam lets out a long, dizzying moan.

The thrusts start off shallow, then turn a little rougher, yet always controlled; the smart master ever aware of not slamming the device too far into him. Not that he'd care, if it'd made his master happy, but the fact that Sam cared broke the last of his control and his hands leap from their white knuckled grip on the comforter to touch his master.

A particularly deep thrust presses the item flush with his prostate and he's clinging to the body above his, arms wrapping tight around his master's neck and legs slinging up around his waist. He's moaning freely, not paying attention, lost to the world except for Sam and the pleasure and then finally, blessedly, Sam reaches down and slides the cock ring free, the resulting climax hitting him so hard he's seeing stars.

Air seems to be eluding him, and he's vaguely aware that Sam's now filled him up and has collapsed as well, mouthing lazily at his neck. He eventually figures out how breathing works and fills his lungs as he drifts away. Before the last folds of sleep pull him down, he thinks he hears Sam whisper his name.

When he can finally move, Sam carefully removes the blindfold from his now unconscious pet, caressing his hand and fingers over perfect cheek bones and jaw before sliding out and locating the string, carefully removing the anal bullet and switching it off with the remote. Pushing up onto shaky arms and knees, he collects both the blindfold and cock ring as well and heads into the conjoined bathroom, placing them in their designated areas for later cleaning before heading back into the room.

Gathering the pliant body gently into his arms, he moves them out of the room and down the hall, indulging in a soft kiss against Dean's forehead as they enter into his bedroom, kicking the door closed behind himself and crossing to the bed, pulling back the sheets before laying the man carefully down under the jersey fabric.

Careful not to jostle the mattress, Sam crawls up next to his pet and curls around him, pressed back to chest, nuzzling the short hairs on the top of Dean's head and looping an arm around the warm body. He let's his eyes close, taking in the new scent of his lover.

Hm. Lover. He liked that title better. Maybe he'll whisper it into Dean's ear later, while he's fucking him senseless.

Sam reflects idly on his plan for next time, a smile pulling at his lips as he feels Dean beginning to stir in his arms. Ducking his head, he begins peppering the freckled shoulder with kisses.

* * *

><p>EN: sooo? R&R please~ i wanna know how much you guys like/dislike/want more/can't wait to see this. tell me! you don't know how proud i am to go to my inbox and be all "wutwut? MORE subscriptions/favs/alerts/comments? YYAAAAYYYYY! I can haz fanz nao?"  
>(serious, it really makes me so happy)<p>

till next time, lovelies!


	6. Beloved and Therefore

A/N: so, since nympha fluminis promised cookies, here's the next chapter. YAY!

Thanks to everyone who commented!

frostygossamer : I'm an Ambassador? Awesome!

Kefa2112 : because it is as you said, incredibly hot.

Deanloverbabe : here it is. Hope you enjoy~!

Chapter Title: Beloved and Therefore... (Par amour, le plus grand)  
>Series: Supernatural<br>Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, mentions of Sam/Gabriel  
>Summary: AU set in a world where human trafficking and such related thing are an excepted part of society. prostitute!Dean, Wincest, all the good stuff<br>Warnings: there's gonna be stuff. mentions of noncon, rough sex, kinky things, bdsm, underage, actual plot (wutwut), sex, CBT... this list's probably gonna grow with each chap so hold on to your hats.

* * *

><p>The two of them had moved to the kitchen, Dean looking around with wide eyes at the house (now that he could see it) and Sam chuckling at his lover's relaxed disposition. He liked the shorter man submissive, but he also seemed to like it when Dean's true personality is able to shine through; as it did when he first saw him. Sometimes Dean would gingerly caress items on shelves or pictures on walls, eyes processing everything as they roamed around, taking in all the details of his new home. Sam couldn't think of a reason why any of the decor was notable, but quickly reminded himself that it was probably a way for the green eyed man to understand his master a bit better; make note of the people he's associated with by the reoccurring faces in photos.<p>

When they had reached the kitchen in the back, Dean remained standing until Sam gestured for him to go ahead and sit. The shorter man had been given a pair of boxers and pants (from Sam's own wardrobe) for the journey downstairs, and when he sat in one of the wooden chairs around the small matching table, the waistband rode lower around his hips. Tempting as it was to kiss up the length of his pet's spine, Sam instead focused on preparing them a meal.

He'd given his cook the day off, (along with anyone else that might have interrupted their alone time), so the culinary duties where left up to him.

Right. Now where did the cook keep the pots again..?

About halfway through his increasingly frustrating search, he was pulling his head out of a bottom cabinet, which held a bunch of confusing items, when he looked up to come face-to-face with a bright red flat pan-type-thing. Skillet, his brain vaguely supplied.

"Need some help?" Dean's voice was warm and almost affectionate. When Sam titled his head back, to take in his lover's expression, he saw a playful smirk, green eyes dancing in amusement as he used the skillet to gently cuff Sam under the chin.

"What, you know how to find things in here?" Sam swallowed down the flutter his stomach just gave him and focused on making conversation.

"Know better than you how a kitchen works, apparently. Don't take it too personal, though, it was in my training." Dean's smile grows, and he reaches out a hand to pull Sam up from the floor. "How about an omelet?"

Five minutes later Sam was enjoying the sight of Dean stirring chopped ham, green onions, and red bell peppers around the skillet with a spatula. The aroma was intoxicating, flavoring the air as they popped and sizzled in the pan. When that was done, they were emptied into a bowl that already held cracked, uncooked eggs, and lots of shredded cheese with a dash of milk (Sam had begun cataloging every step Dean had taken in preparation, on accident, while meticulously following the man's every movement) and stirred everything together before pouring it all back into the skillet.

It wasn't much longer after that, that a plate with Sam's half of the omelet was served in front of him. Dean deposited the dishes in the sink before heading over with his own plate, sliding into the seat opposite Sam. They sat in silence at first, distracted by food and the growling of their stomachs, but soon began a light, easy conversation when they'd polished off their meal.

"You're adopted?" Dean's query came as he was collecting their plates, pausing a bit to look up at Sam in mild surprise, before continuing over to the sink.

"Yeah, back when I was really little." Sam took in the sight of his pet washing the dishes, then got up to refill his coffee mug with still hot liquid black-gold from the coffee maker on the counter. "My real parents died when I was only about six months old, so the only family I've ever known was my adoptive parents and sister."

Dean seemed to think over this information, moving the dish scrubber in circles on the face of the dish absently. "I'm sorry, shouldn't have asked. If it makes you feel better, I don't remember much from before the agency took me in... Just gray side walks and pitch dark alleys."

Sam doesn't know why this information makes his heart clench painfully in his chest, but the next moment he's behind Dean, wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him against his chest, resting his cheek on the short, light strands of hair on the top of Dean's head. "Not anymore." he's even more surprised by the need he has to say these words. But he feels Dean relax into him, their bodies swaying a bit before Sam reaches a hand up to pinch Dean's chin lightly, turning his head gently and pressing their lips together.

It isn't like the kisses they shared in bed. It's slow, lips moving without urgency, bodies resting against each other. It lasts for a minute, then two. They only part to steal air, Sam's hand cupping Dean's jaw carefully. He both hopes for it to last forever, and wishes it to end, tasting the grief on both of their lips.

Eventually they break apart, staring into each others eyes for a long moment before Sam let's go of his pet's face and Dean goes back to washing the dishes, putting them each into the dish washer as he goes. When everything is cleaned up, they retire to the living room, curled up on the sofa, and continue their conversation, keeping it on happier subjects before they both drift off into a long nap.

They both dream of live before and long ago.

_Blazing colors. Suffocating smoke. A woman screaming. A man pushing him down stairs with an important burden in his arms. Cold night air that freezes him through as he waits. And waits. And waits._

_Still waiting..._

Dean jerks awake, still laying on top of his master. The dream is a reoccurring one. He's used to it, and has given up trying to understand it.

He smacks his lips, laying his head back down on Sam's shoulder, face buried in the crook of his neck and takes deep, healing breaths. The scent of his master makes him forget all about the nightmare and warms him throughout.

He could stay like this forever.


	7. Shake it Out

A/N: whooo, i'm on a rollllll! look at this! another chapter! What?  
>Anyway, this was inspired by my lovely beta. The chapter title came from Florence and the Machine's song. You should go listen to it: .comwatch?v=WbN0nX61rIs&ob=av2e

frostygossamer: yes and no. you shall see. Good things to those who wait ;)

Chapter Title: Shake It Out  
>Series: Supernatural<br>Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, mentions of Sam/Gabriel  
>Summary: AU set in a world where human trafficking and such related thing are an excepted part of society. prostitute!Dean, Wincest, all the good stuff<br>Warnings: there's gonna be stuff. mentions of noncon, underage, rough sex, kinky things, bdsm, underage, actual plot (wutwut), sex, CBT... this list's probably gonna grow with each chap so hold on to your hats.

* * *

><p>Dean woke up again, but this time to the feeling of nausea. It was cold and coiling, clenching and twisting with a sickening spiral that has him blinking away the sudden tears. His chin is quivering and he feels the need to curl in on himself. This sink, this downfall, was hitting him hard, and all of a sudden his world began to blur, tears rolling down his temple to soak into the soft material of Sam's t-shirt.<p>

He looks up to his master's face, taking in the peaceful expression, the way his lips are slightly parted, how his hair has fallen into his face. Carefully, cautiously, he removes himself from the slack circle of arms and sneaks away. They'd discussed the do's and don't's of living here earlier, before sleep had closed their eyes. Dean was allowed to go anywhere in the house unless previously ordered differently, and was off limits to the room they'd first been in, (which he now knew as the "Toy Room") unless he was blindfolded.

Tip toeing into a small bathroom located down the hall from the dinning room, he locked the door behind himself and leaned his back against the cool wood, sliding down until he was sitting. Wrapping his arms around his legs and hiding his face in his knees, he began taking in deep, calming breaths.

When Sam woke up, he knew instantly something was wrong. Dean was missing from his arms, the space above him cold from where a warm body use to lie. He bolted, panic rushing through him at first before rationality brought him back to his senses and he could actually think. Pulling himself to his feet, he began looking throughout the house for his lost lover. He didn't even need to search past the first floor, finding the guest bathroom door closed, and upon knocking, received a muffled response.

Dean sounded miserable, or what Sam could hear of him did. He tried the door knob, finding it locked from inside and worry spread yet again. He'd heard that sometimes self destructive behavior occurred after intense "play", had read up on all possible dangerous side effects before choosing an agency to even purchase. He hoped he'd just heard wrong, that maybe Dean just wanted to...do...whatever it is one does in a guest restroom.

Chewing at the inside of his cheek, he backed away from the door and into the wall behind him, sliding down to the floor and pulling his knees up against his chest. He'd just have to wait.

Dean was situated over the toilet, poised for the vomit that wasn't coming and enjoying the cool of the starch white seat against his forehead. His heart was pounding, breaths coming out fast to the point of hyperventilation, tears falling into the basin and he DIDN'T KNOW WHY HE FELT LIKE THIS!

He'd sometimes see the younger boys act like this after their first night, but it was in rare cases and he couldn't remember how they dealt with it. Did they eat? He remembered one of the girls had to eat chocolate after every client, said she couldn't go without. Would that help? But then again, she's a girl so maybe it's just a chocoholic thing (he'll never understand women and their love of the stuff).

Okay then, what else?

Nothing he could remember really helped, just little innocents that clung to him and that he would sometimes kiss the tears away for. But everyone was clingy after their first.

Except him.

He'd never felt like this. Well, that was lie. He'd felt this suffocating...loneliness, that's what this is, he'd felt it before. When he was little. After he'd lost that important thing.

But this was different. He shouldn't feel this now, he wasn't lonely. After all, he had Sam.

At this thought he lurched away from the porcelain throne and stumbled towards the door, clumsily fiddling with the lock and wrenching the door open. There sat Sam, his handsome, strong, beautiful master, and Dean crawled into the safety of those arms. He pressed his face against the crook of his neck, whimpering as the tears spilled over, and Sam held him through the wracking sobs. Hands were combing through the short hair on the back of his head and pulling him to fit perfectly with Sam's body, kisses pressing themselves to his temple, his forehead, his eyelids. He clung to Sam, felt as though he were falling, and was sure he'd never be able to let go.

Sam held Dean even after the other man had over come his state, now dozing against him drowsily. A finger was rubbing back and forth across the collar of his shirt, and Dean was breathing deep, slow breaths. Almost as if the whole thing had never happened.

"I'm sorry." Dean's voice was hoarse, thick with tears and raw from releasing them.

"Don't be. You never need to be sorry for things like...like that." Sam felt the overwhelming urge to shower Dean with affection; felt like a failure that he'd apparently allowed his 'sub' to crash. What was it called again? 'Sub-drop'?

Dean was quiet for a while longer, every so often acting like he was going to say something, then loosing it. They were still and safe in their own world. Then Dean was leaning up, kissing Sam under the jaw. It started off simple and soft but soon became urgent, body pressing against his needfully.

But it was wrong. So very wrong. Sam was soon grabbing Dean's shoulders and pulling him out of range to look at his lover. Beautiful jade was glassy, and when their eyes met Dean hid them away quickly behind his eye lids. His face was flushed, and his hands were reaching toward Sam blindly. When Dean opened his eyes again they were full of such pleading that Sam had to cup his face and pull him back in to let their lips meet.

The kiss tasted of salt, and Dean wrapped his arms around Sam's head to press against him again, legs straddling his waist. Though Sam tried to keep it slow, they were soon breathing heavily and Dean was moving to kiss Sam's neck, sucking lightly. When Sam tried to push him away again, to slow him down, Dean wrapped tighter around him so it was impossible.

"Please..." he sounded hurt, and it shocked tears to Sam's eyes. "Please, I-I want...I...please, Sammy..." his voice broke on the last word, the nickname sounding vaguely familiar somehow, and then Dean was kissing him again and it hurt so much that Sam's arms sprung to hold him again, pulling them so close they might just melt into each other.

When they finally pull away, they looked as if they'd done more than just make out. Both had a cooling sheen of sweat and saliva covering their bodies, faces red and eyes dazed. Sam's hair was a wreck. Dean's collar had, at some point, been flung somewhere near the doorway. They were both breathing like they'd run a marathon, and when they saw how ridiculous they both looked, they began laughing, hard and healing, both falling onto the floor and holding their sides as the house filled with the sound of their relief.

"I think I should become a chocoholic." Dean stated, crawling back to snuggle up with Sam.

"Mmmm...I'd like to have fun with chocolate."

"Oooohhh...something to look forward to?"

"Yes. But right now, I'd like to stay just like this..."

They laid together, smiling, and everything was right again. Then:

"That's a nice thought and all, but your floor is cold and I like your bed better."

* * *

><p>EN: hey, just out of morbid curiosity, are there people reading this from different countries? If so, give a shout out! Otherwise ya'll are just fellow insomniacs. In which case hellloooooo! Try Tylonol PM. It works wonders. Until you, you know, become immune.  
>If so, then...sad day.<p> 


	8. I Thought of Just Your Face

A/N: _**FINALLY**_! OMLC! are you guys still with me? holy crap!  
>okay, so. I've got good news, and I've got bad news. the good news is, I GOT A JOB! :D<br>the bad news is...i got a job. so now i have even more junk taking up my thoughts and free time.  
>but job = more experience and material and shit. so. let's look on the bright side. like how i'll have money. money's good. because...<p>

DISCLAIMER: i DO NOT get paid for this, nor do i own any of these characters. (except the dog sitter. prize to who might get who she is. [beta, you can't play]). King Kripke owns, and Harley + Sadie belongs to Jared Padaleki. (cause i figured "hey, this is MY fictional story. and we all know Sammy would have a dog or two.")

Chapter Title: I Thought of Just Your Face _(based off Into the Ocean by Blue October)_  
>Series: Supernatural<br>Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, mentions of Sam/Gabriel, Harley and Sadie  
>Summary: AU set in a world where human trafficking and such related thing are an excepted part of society. prostitute!Dean, Wincest, all the good stuff<br>Warnings: there's gonna be stuff. mentions of noncon, underage, rough sex, kinky things, bdsm, underage, actual plot (wutwut), sex, CBT, crossdressing (?), character death (past), human slavery (if you didn't get that by now then wow)... this list's probably gonna grow with each chap so hold on to your hats.

* * *

><p>They fall into easy comfort with one another after that, Dean sometimes waking up to the wonderful sensations of Sam taking full advantage of sucking Dean off in his sleep. Always a joy to see those lips curl into a wide grin around his cock as sparkling hazel eyes catches his before those lips are finishing him off with one more, powerful suck and the first thing Dean does in the morning is come hard and long into his master's hot, inviting mouth.<p>

This morning Dean had woken up to Sam's long fingers tracing over the barely-there scars covering his body, face breaking into a gorgeous smile at seeing that Dean was awake. Sam then proceeded to play a game he dubbed "lick and tell" in which Sam would lick over a scar and Dean had to try and explain why it was there. The green eyed man would have lightly teased his master's naming skills but was slightly distracted when Sam initiated the game by licking at a scar located extremely close to one of Dean's nipples.

"I g-got that one fr – ah! From a branding incident." he panted, their game having come to a nice little mid-point at Dean's hip bone. Sam showed his satisfaction in this answer by licking over the barely visible pink line once more before moving to kiss at a bigger, tender scar located lower in the dip of his abdomen. Dean had begun to arch off the bed with a whimper, trying to formulate thought past the pleasure when the door bell rang.

And then the dogs came home.

To be fair, Sam had gently introduced the fact that he owned a pair of dogs to Dean several days ago at breakfast. It had been pretty obvious, what with the dog beds scattered throughout the house, the dog bowls in the kitchen floor, the scratches on the back door...and if the physical evidence wasn't enough, there's the way Sam will ruffle his hair in adoration and whisper "good boy" when Dean gets something right.

So it isn't as if the dogs were a surprise, not really. The size of the dogs, however is.

After getting dressed and willing their erections away, Sam and Dean had thudded down the stairs to be greeted by their visitor and two, very large, dogs letting themselves in. Dean couldn't help chuckling to himself at the difference in size between the very excited over grown puppies and the tiny little female handling them.

"Harley, Sadie, sit!" to his surprise, both dogs plop down on their rears at the girl's firm command, tongues lolled out of their smiling jowls. Scratching the larger one behind the ears, she looked up at their master with a bright smile. "Here comes daddy, guys! Tell him what good doggies you've been, who's been good? Yes you have!"

Both men were shaking their heads and smiling at the affectionate praises, Sam kneeling to let the dogs lick and nuzzle his face. After blessing the puppies with kisses and baby jabbered phrases like "good girl/boy" and "did you miss daddy?" the giant of a man turned to his counter part, still standing on the stairs.

Dean had himself casually braced against the banister, looking poised to run back up the stairs given any reason to and had an expression of forced nonchalance. Quite frankly he looked like he was only still this close because it would please Sam. Standing, the hazel eyed man decided to try his best to break his lover of his discomfort.

"Dean, this is Harley," a large hand comes to rest on the back of the larger dog's neck, "and Sadie," the other hand gently rubs over the perk eared, smaller dogs brow, earning a sloppy lick to the palm, "would you like to say hello?"

Green eyes flicker with something resembling fear before Dean schools his face into a bright smile, cautiously stepping down the last three steps and pacing forward to stand about a foot from where Sam stood with his two babies. Slowly raising a fist, Dean brought it toward Sadie's nose, flinching slightly when she lent forward to scent his knuckles. After she seemed satisfied, she sat back and looked up at him, tongue once more lolled from smiling mouth. Filled with white, perfect, _sharp_ teeth.

Next came Harley, who was less interested in Dean's fingers and more interested in his legs and crotch, pressing his nose in awkwardly and making him take jittery steps backwards. Sam grabbed the giant dog by the collar, hauling him back with ease and blushing from ear to ear.

"Sorry, I-I don't know what's up with him, h-he's never d-done that before..." Sam gave a little tap of his fingers to Harley's nose, the dog's ears going back with an apologetic sounding whine.

"N-...nah..." Dean couldn't breathe very well, and nearly jumped out of his skin when the girl he'd forgotten was there spoke up.

"Well, I'll just escort these guys to the back yard!" clapping her hands, she ushered the dog's out of the room toward the kitchen, pausing to level Sam with a meaningful look, then she was gone with a swish of short brown hair.

They could hear her in the next rooms, talking animatedly to the dogs until they heard the back door shut and they were left in silence. Dean shuffled in place, now distracted by how he was going to explain himself and not noticing until he was being enveloped in his master's arms that the man had even moved toward him.

He was slipping.

A gentle hand turned his face up, beautiful hazel eyes locking with his and Dean found himself swooning a bit under the gaze. Sam was looking down at him with worry, a small wrinkle between his eyebrows that Dean wanted to erase out of instinct. Lacing his fingers behind Sam's back, he went up on the balls of his feet to press his lips to the addicting pair above him.

Well, tried to anyway. His master held him still, brushing the pad of a thumb over his cheek. "Dean...are you...scared of dogs...?" by the tone of his voice the taller man sounded as if the concept was foreign to him.

"Just really...big...ones..." Dean was trying to remember if there was something in his training for this, a way to handle the situation. He wished to make Sam happy, not distress him. "But it's fine! Harley and Sadie are Master's pets, they're precious to you, so...I will learn to love them as you do."

"Dean..."

"It's fine. I'm fine. No big deal, honest." his bravado was the best he could do, since he was finding it difficult, as always, to think straight when his master's hands were touching him. So Sam owned a pair of really big dogs. So what? Dean would deal. No way in hell would he lose out to a pair of canines. He was a man, dammit! The higher species, opposable thumbs!

Even if the one did seem to have a suspicious attraction to his groin...

A week ago if you'd told Sam that he had a secret thing for bow legs he'd have looked at you like you were crazy.

After tricking Dean into telling him the story behind his fear of dogs and, in turn, also answering the question of the scar in the V of his abdomen, Sam had come to understand Dean's skittishness around them. The tale had made them both upset, in hearing and in reliving, and afterward Sam was sure Dean wouldn't want anywhere near the dogs.

But true to his word, Dean began adjusting little by little to the two dogs, and was soon befriended by Sadie, who would heel to his side and lay her head in his lap as easily as if they'd always been a pair. Dean fell into a slow but happy rhythm with the motherly old dog, and by the end of the week Sam had caught him whispering sweetly to her about what a good girl she was.

And really, Sam didn't usually look at Dean's legs while he was standing, wearing one of six new pairs of baggy pants and nothing else while hanging around the house, so he'd never noticed. Not until one morning while he watched Dean cook breakfast as he had begun doing every morning, when Sadie had come up from behind Dean and slipped under him to stand between his legs, making Dean chuckle and scratch behind her ears. In was in the middle of taking a swig of coffee that he caught the slight curve to his lover's legs, rounding outwards subtly under the dark wash denim.

Sam stared. And stared. And then he began to formulate naughty, indecent thoughts of what he was going to do with this new found knowledge. The thought of food only kept a forefront because he could smell it, but he made up for losing time that could be spent on sexing his gorgeous lover up by having him sit in his lap to eat, legs spread slightly and playing with his spiked libido. Now that it had been made apparent to him, he doesn't know how he'd never noticed. Dean's legs easily straddled his, feet hooking behind his heels like a habit that reminds Sam of horse back riding...

Oh yeah, there was going to be debauchery. Debauchery and sex. And Sam couldn't wait.

* * *

><p>EN: hokay. so, again, sorry so very much for the wait! but next one promises yummy stuff. i'm playing to a request from my beta (whom is beautiful and sparkly and all things sarcastic) next time, so look forward to it!

hint: Dean's gonna be VERY unstable.


	9. A Little More Touch Me

Author's Note: hoooo! well now...yeah. I've no excuse.

enjoy, please.

Chapter Title: A Little Less "Sixteen Candles", a Little more "Touch Me"  
>Series: Supernatural<br>Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, mentions of Sam/Gabriel, Harley and Sadie  
>Summary: AU set in a world where human trafficking and such related thing are an excepted part of society. prostitute!Dean, Wincest, all the good stuff<br>Warnings: there's gonna be stuff. mentions of noncon, underage, rough sex, kinky things, bdsm, underage, actual plot (wutwut), sex, CBT, crossdressing (?), character death (past), human slavery (if you didn't get that by now then wow)... this list's probably gonna grow with each chap so hold on to your hats.

* * *

><p>The first touch comes as a shock, a hand swiveling gently around his ankle and lifting his foot. A puff of warm breath, then a kiss to the top of his foot, making him shiver. Then something that feels like a shoe is being slipped onto his foot. The fit is strange, making his foot arch in alien patterns and then his other foot is being lifted, first foot left propped on Sam's broad shoulder.<p>

He must be making a face because he hears Sam chuckle before repeating the process of kissing and sliding on the weird shoe on his foot.

"What's that face, sweetie?" the pet name seems to dissatisfy his master. "Dean?" it's an amendment accompanied by a huge hand cupping his cheek. If his eyes weren't closed behind his blindfold Dean's pretty convinced they'd have fluttered. Which is totally just a tactic for pleasing Sam, not a swoon directly connected to the way Dean's heart skips a beat when Sam says his name.

Wait, he'd been asked a question, right?

Sam sighs from in front of him, kissing a still raised ankle before finally setting them both down and standing. "C'mon." Dean tries to get up and finds himself falling forward. Strong, sure arms catch him and try to help him steady himself.

An extremely difficult task when you're forced on your tip toes. Dean tries to lean back to resettle his weight on his heels and finds himself falling backward now.

"Careful!" Sam tries to catch him but ends up collapsing with him onto the bed. "OOF!"

He knows for a fact that he's pulling a face now, but the things on his feet are now an annoyance. "Sir? Can't you just..." shit, speaking out of turn. He's not sure of Sam's policy on whether Dean can talk freely during interludes, and quite frankly he has issues finding punishment not an entirely unpleasant option if Sam does it. If it were Sammy...

"Hmmm? Can't I just what?" his master's voice is level and he's already pulling himself up. Dean reaches blindly for him, finding it hard to do it seductively when his fingers bump dumbly against Sam's jaw.

"Can't you just have me here?" his voice is hushed with anticipation and he hopes it doesn't sound nearly as pathetic as he thinks it does.

A soft chuckle above him, then lips crashing against his. He doesn't hold back his moan, knowing how Sam loves to hear him, and wraps his arms around Sam's neck.

And then Sam is lifting them carefully, holding Dean close and steady against his body as he sets Dean on his toes again.

"Hold onto me, okay? I wont let you fall."

_If you manage to find me then I'll let you leave._

"C'mon, we'll go one step at a time."

_Little whore, think you can do anything on your own?_

Dean pushes away the memories trying their best to break free and focuses on his master's words, his voice, the sway of his body as he walks them where he wants. One baby step after another. When they finally get there, Sam's room if Dean's blind memory is correct, he's laid out spread eagle upon the soft material of the bedding.

Soon the blindfold is removed, a kiss christening each of his eye lids before he opens them, looking up at his master.

Then he looks down at his feet. Oh.

Heels.

No wonder he couldn't walk right.

And then he can't think again when Sam ruts against him through their clothes, dirty and raw and makes Dean's head swim of what he'd like to do to Sam. Do for him. Each thought and touch makes the coiling in his stomach liquid lava and sends him trembling, both out of restraint and arousal.

And just like that Sam's pulling away.

"Wah...?" Dean's hands make a clumsy attempt at grabbing at him, body following him into an upright position like a magnet following it's partner.

Sam catches his hands, bringing them together and holding them still within his own giant paws. Dean's mind starts racing, trying to understand what he must've done wrong. He stays still, awaiting command while watching Sam as he sits there, golden in the sun light streaming through the window. Then he looks up at Dean, lustful and authoritative.

"Undress me." the command is a little surprising in it's suddenness and reminds him of their first night, firm but loving and makes Dean shiver.

Hands spring into action, steady with practiced ease as he lifts the hem of his master's shirt up and over his head and down his arms. He starts undoing Sam's pants next, moaning softly when Sam begins kissing his neck.

"That's a good boy, show me what you've got Lover." Dean trembles under the name, halfheartedly opening his mouth to protest and only managing a strangled agreement. Bringing his hands up he pulls Sam down, flipping them so Sam is laid out below him. Finishing off undoing his master's pants Dean pulls them off along with his boxer shorts and stares down at the naked expanse of Sam's body.

Crawling up between those ridiculously long legs and straddling his master's hips, he leans forward to bite at a plump lower lip and tug. Sam responds with a groan and wraps his arms around and around Dean, pulling him closer. They revel in just kissing each other light headed and breathless before he breaks the kiss and kisses down his master's body. The journey is reflective of that first night, Dean's turn to catalog every inch of the hazel eyed man's warm body, to make him writhe and moan, to pleasure him the way he so rightfully deserves.

Sam's hands find their way to Dean's thighs, rubbing and caressing until he'd moved out of reach. He explores over Dean's back, finger tips pressing into his skin every time the short haired man reached certain areas along his body. But this wouldn't do. Those beautiful bow legs were sneaking away from him.

Grabbing his lover up, Sam rolled them back so he was above Dean again and then flipped Dean over so he was on all fours. Smiling down at the way his pet moaned and raised his ass in offering he grabbed a cheek in each hand and spread them apart. He felt the body shake under his hands but chalked it up to the way it usually tried to vibrate out of it's skin with arousal. He leaned down, pressing his lips to the small of Dean's back and trailing down, down, down...

Dean couldn't help the little rock his hips give when his master's tongue licks over his entrance. It's actually a little new, having been rimmed by only a few clients as his main purpose was in giving pleasure, not receiving. But with Sam it seems that it was more a shared experience.

When he felt the slick muscle slip in he tried not to squirm, to writhe in sensitivity and attention. Small, whispered sounds were being drawn out of him with every action the tongue had begun lavishing onto his hole.

He barely noticed that his high heels had slipped off at some point and that he was clawing at the sheets and bucking his hips until Sam moved up behind him and grabbed him up, pulling them flush against each other and upright, Sam's knees tucked on the inside of his and spreading his legs wide. He reached back to tangle his fingers in his master's long brown locks and drug their mouths together, battling playfully for dominance before giving it up to Sam.

Nails scratched down Dean's side, making him arch and moan "FuckyesSammy!" and getting a thumb flicked over his nipple in reward. He can feel his master's erection pressed against his back like this and Sam's tight pumps to his cock are driving him cross eyed with pleasure, hips rutting backwards to try and maybe get his master to take him.

Sam's lips were mouthing at his neck, hot and wet and probably leaving lots of little marks around and even under his collar. Teeth bit and tugged on the butter soft leather, jerking against Dean's neck with just enough force to leave him a bit more breathless than he already was. The sensation was bitter sweet in the way his head reeled from air loss and how his hands were desperately grasping back for his master.

"Sammy, _please_…" he's gasping the words, and he can't think on how it sounds whiny or how his voice is barely there because Sam's hands are pushing him down, pinned against the mattress and is shoving himself in.

They're both moaning now, dirty and loud, Dean arching up and shaking at the burn. Sam at least waits until he's sunk all the way in, giving shallow little thrust along the way to bottom out completely, before moving. He can feel his master's mouth sucking sloppily at his shoulders and God he doesn't think he can take much more and Sam's growling out naughty words of praise that makes him shiver and writhe.

More, more, those giant paws of his are roaming over his body like he owns it (cause he does) and that just crashes him down hard and faster than he'd like. But Sam's still going, moaning out a cuss and grabbing Dean's ankle, twisting his hips as he lifts it and rams in harder. Dean is curling his fingers in the covers and wondering idly if he can climax again so soon from the way his vision is whiting out with every thrust against his prostate and then his master's coming.

He looks back to catch Sam's expression. Face flushed and blissed out, eyes lust blown and glowing hazel. Only one word, one to describe the way he looks at Dean when he collapses beside him. One, simple word that he can't bear to think about and is so big and sad that he has to close his eyes to keep out the lingering touch of Sam's gaze.

Because it hurts too much.


	10. She's My Ride Home

A/N: I'm gonna be honest here. I cried. Twice. Once while writing, once while editing.  
>The title is from Blue October's song by the same name. You should totally listen to it while reading...<br>hooo boooyyy this chapter's long. Hope you enjoy!  
>Now, on to the backstory, YOSH!<p>

Chapter Title: She's My Ride Home  
>Series: Supernatural<br>Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, mentions of Sam/Gabriel, Harley and Sadie  
>Summary: AU set in a world where human trafficking and such related thing are an excepted part of society. prostitute!Dean, Wincest, all the good stuff<br>Warnings: there's gonna be stuff. mentions of noncon, underage, rough sex, kinky things, bdsm, underage, actual plot (wutwut), sex, CBT, crossdressing (?), character death (past), human slavery (if you didn't get that by now then wow)... this list's probably gonna grow with each chap so hold on to your hats.

* * *

><p>It was at three o' clock in the morning that Mary Winchester woke up screaming in a puddle of her own blood and startles her husband out of sleep and into panic. It's at 3:15 that they arrive at the hospital after John drove like a maniac and nearly killed them both. It's 3:25 when John is sentenced to the waiting room like a scolded puppy for "making it worse".<p>

And it's at exactly 3:45 am on a Wednesday morning that everyone hears the piercing wail of a new born child.

Dean Adam Winchester was in a word the most beautiful thing John had ever seen, aside from Mary. Pink and new with a perfectly shaped head from the c-section and absolutely everything John had ever wanted and dreamed for without even knowing. Because he was premature the little body was about the length of John's arm from finger tips to elbow and his baby boy's eyes (when not scrunched up to keep out the glaring white lights) were big and blue and looking at everything.

Hard to believe that his birth had nearly killed both him and his mother.

The doctor kept talking about Mary's instability, how lucky they were that she was doing as well as she was. What it all came down to was something that easily crushes the smile on Mary's face when John takes Dean in to her, letting her caress her fingers over his small soft skull.

The words 'complications' and 'may never again' make her eyes loose that sparkle that caught John's eye to begin with. The doctor continues with 'dangerous' and 'difficulty conceiving' and her face turns much older than her age and the smile on her lips is completely gone. With the final 'I'm sorry' and 'not much we could do' the doctor leaves the room, leaving them with their baby and their silence and their heavy, heavy thoughts.

"John, I..." her voice cracks and he can hear her thoughts clear as if she were screaming them.

"No. Don't...baby, don't you apologize for something you can't do nothing about." John shifts his boy in his arms, careful to support the sleeping child's head in the crook of his arm like the nurse showed him and sits on the edge of the bed, facing Mary and cupping her cheek. "I love you. Nothing can or could ever change that, hear me?" He can hear his own voice choking and he clears his throat to try and get rid of the lump crawling it's way up his throat to try and choke him. "Everything is going to be fine."

And for a little while, it was.

Dean runs into the living room and takes a flying leap right onto John's sleeping form, startling him promptly awake with a yelp.

"Daddy, daddy, daddydaddydaddydaddy!" the little three year old on top of him was squirming, army crawling his way up to sit on his old man's chest, face distraught. "Daddy, mommy's yelling into the potty!"

"Son, I love you, but you're heav...What did you say?" though slow his mind can be when newly woken, John's mind manages to catch the reason why Dean's lip is quivering and he keeps looking over his shoulder toward the stairwell.

"She's yelling in the potty, and, and it stinks kinda um, that's not good, right?" Dean's fidgeting like he's not sure if he should go check on his mother or stay here to find out what John thinks. And John's torn between chuckling at how utterly adorable his son sounds and leaping off the couch and running to his wife's side.

Oh wait, that sounds like the better idea.

Mary can't decide if she should be happy or scared shit-less. There's a monster standing in the corner of her mind, one that looks like every ghost, ghoul, wendigo, and werewolf she'd ever hunted all combined into one messed up love child. It's whispering a campaign of twisted, ugly words that send her into a bout of puking that has nothing to do with the morning sickness.

And that, that right there should be a reason to rejoice, right? Morning sickness. Because morning sickness means...

No. No no no no no. Not happening. She can't go through that again.

Not again.

John's there, she knows because he's rubbing his hands over her back in a way she thinks might be soothing if she wasn't so cold. If she could feel his warmth.

If she could feel anything but fearyoucowardstopcrying.

When it seems she's all done attempting to puke her insides out he pulls her back and wipes a wet rag over her lips, wrapping her up in his arms and leaning back against the wall opposite the toilet. He's warm, should be warming her the way he always does but the tears keep flowing into the familiar worn fabric of his flannel shirt.

"Mommy?" Dean's voice breaks through everything, banishes the harsh whispering of the monster like a gun shot and she looks up at her baby boy standing in the doorway of the master bathroom. He's standing pigeon toed, like he does when he's nervous or shy, and his face is drawn with that chubby little chin of his quivering a mile a minute, a tell-tale sign of tears being an emanate thing.

Sure enough, hazel green eyes fill and spill fat hot tears down his baby face and drip down onto his Led Zeppelin sleep shirt, staining the dusty black material darker. His hands are fisted in the front, shaking. "M...mom...ma..."

"Ssshhh, baby it's okay come here." Mary holds her arms out for her baby boy. Her little miracle. Dean sobs in a way that always makes Mary's heart squeeze and rushes into her open arms, crying like only a frightened toddler can and then they're both getting enveloped in Daddy's arms and everyone starts calming down.

After a long while, when morning starts becoming day and Dean's finally stopped hiccuping, he mumbles the question the grown ups in the room are afraid to answer.

"Mommy? 'S matter?"

"Mommy's pregnant, sweetie."

"Pr...pregn...?" he stumbles over the word, sniffles, then looks up at her and places a tiny little hand against her cheek as if to make up for what he can't say. "Zat bad?"

A laugh, sudden and too loud that's more like a sob. "No, baby, it's..." A pause, deep breath. "It mean's you're going to be a big brother."

Dean's eyes get big, displaying that gorgeous green that Mary sometimes think he pulls off better than herself, and his mouth drops open before bursting into a blinding smile.

"So far so good, kiddo!" John exclaims as he walks through the door, catching his son as he comes barreling toward him and tossing the giggling boy up before hugging him tight and swaying them side to side, Dean's legs swinging like a pendulum. Mary comes up behind him, shoving him playing all the way into the house before closing the front and huffing out a chuckle at her husband's impersonation he's doing of a giddy school girl. John's too distracted with kissing Dean's face and humming some Metallica song with off key happiness.

"D-daddy it-t tick-kles!" Dean stammers out between gleeful giggles and pushes against John's chest halfheartedly. John responds by nuzzling his stubbled cheek against Dean's, earning a shriek of new laughter.

"He was an angel, as always Mrs. W." the babysitter walks over to the group from where she'd been sitting on the couch, smiling at the two men of the house before bringing a hand up to ruffle Dean's hair. "That's why he's my favorite, right buddy?"

"Thank you again for watching him, I know you had plans." Mary is stroking her hand absently over her stomach, smiling over at her boys.

"A blind date your grandparents set up isn't plans, it's creepy. 'Sides, Dean's way better company. But that's whatever, how'd the check up go?"

Mary looks down at her stomach, already nearing it's second trimester and beginning to show. "So far, so good."

It's the fifteenth of December, cold and miserable and midnight when Mary wakes knowing something is most definitely not right. She wraps her hands over the swell of her stomach and hates knowing that five months ago she'd been right to be scared.

In her upbringing she'd faced many a thing, the kind of creatures that make the world unsafe. She'd also watched the life stutter out of existence in their eyes, heard the breath leave their lungs and almost felt it when their soul slipped away. So she knows with way too much certainty that her baby, the one trying to survive in a uterus that's been shot to hell from all the times she'd been stabbed or punched or kicked in the abdomen, her little boy was gone.

She lays there as the tears come and reaches over to wake John up.

Dean comes into her hospital room, crawls onto her bed and snuggles up next to her. It's times like this, when his expression is withdrawn and his moss green eyes are old that Mary knows he's being brave. Being there for her when John can't. Man of the house, protector of the family, Mary's little guiding light.

Dean pets a tiny hand over her stomach, a back and forth that's clumsy but gentle and keeps his eyes trained on the motion. "Daddy says the baby...momma, you okay?"

He looks up at her and he looks so much like his father in those big, sad eyes that her eyes give a pesky little prick. "Yeah, baby, I'm...I'll be okay."

Dean doesn't believe her, mouth twisting to the side in a clear call of Bullshit but instead of calling her on it he just snuggles closer and lays his head on her chest. "S'okay, momma. It'll be all okay, you'll see. You still got me..."

Mary hugs her baby closer and can't help the moisture on her cheeks as her little boy tries to sing to her in a broken off key voice like his Daddy.

"_Hey Jude, don't make it bad...take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better. Hey Jude, don't be afraid. You were made to go out and get her. The minute you let her under your skin, then you begin to make it better..."_

The Doctor said that in cases like this the mother should carry the child to full term, encouraging gently that she should continue as usual. It's easier for everyone involved. She'll even get to see her baby after he's born, get to hold him and say hello...and goodbye.

That doesn't make the next four months any easier.

John knows that Mary, his wife and love, couldn't take the lose, looming over the roof like a vulture ready to dive as soon as it's prey stops breathing. So when he goes to talk to the doctor about adoption he gets a little too angry at the prompt response of "I don't recommend it."

Okay, so maybe he shouldn't have clocked him but dammit if he was going to fix this. Fix the defeated way Mary hugs her stomach and stares forward with far gone eyes. Fix how his son will curl up on the couch with her head in his lap and sing that lullaby softly under his breath for his mother.

Fix how he doesn't feel like a man.

He makes call after call after call to adoption agencies, one after the other till finally he finds one willing to help him out.

Now all he has to do is tell Mary, ask if she'll at least think about it.

Because she deserves more miracles than live is giving her right now.

The adoption process goes by in a haze. Or, maybe it's just Mary. Either way she doesn't really remember much about it, except that it happened and they're here.

She can hear screaming and she thinks it might be her own. Or the woman who keeps popping up in her life. Mary vaguely wonders again if that means she's important when a stab of raw pain hits her and she remembers where she is and why she's there and ohgodithurtsJohnmakeitstop.

Pulse. Pulse. Pulse.

Mary can hear her pulse because it's beeping at her. Strange, it's never done that before. Usually it goes thump. Or b-dump.

Ha, that sounds like the beginning of that...what do you call it? Two drums and a cymbal after a bad joke.

Ba-dump-cssshhh!

Giggling hurts. She'd like to but her lower half freezes up like it can't remember how and pain shoots through her abdomen.

Huh. Weird. That doesn't usually happen either.

A sound now. Over to her...over there. She thinks that sounds weird too and then remembers that it's the sound the doors at the hospital make. Right, that's it.

Why is she here again?

"Mary?" the voice is rough and low and for a second she wonders who that name belongs to. "Mary, honey, wake up?"

Oh yeah, her name's Mary. She tries opening her eyes, struggling for a moment before they finally flutter awake and she can see the world previously hidden behind her eyelids. There's a man there, tall and broad and she names him "Home" in her head cause that's what he is. Whatever that is.

Home is holding something, wrapped in his arms. He's also talking again but there's a weird buzzing in her ears. She wants the thing he's holding. It's important, she knows it. It's small and new and soft and she just **knows** it's her's. Whatever it is.

And then he's bending down, bringing the bundle down for her to see. A baby, her mind supplies. The way her arms rise to hold him is something she doesn't think about. Second nature. He's solid and warm and real and then the buzzing in her ears is gone.

"I haven't named him yet. Know you'd want to. Isn't he beautiful, baby?" Home is close still, a hand caressing over her shoulder to wrap gently over the back of her throat and she remembers John.

"Nicholas Matthew. His name's Nicholas Matthew." she doesn't know how she knows but now she can't see it being anything else. She knows that this is her baby, her brave strong gone baby, and that his eyes will never open and this is her goodbye.

She kisses his forehead and stays with her boy till they come and softly say it's time to let him go.

The couple they were adopting from had arrived at the hospital 30 minutes after the Winchesters, Beth trying to steady her breathing to the in-in-out like she was told to but she kept breaking off to cuss. Eventually she managed both at once with a chant of "fuck-fuck-shit" that John would have found amusing if he wasn't stressed out of his mind.

The delivery of the twins was...halfway successful. Only one of the two boys made it through the whole ordeal still breathing. They both thought they needed to apologize for this.

John just shook his head and told them to look after each other. Said it wasn't their fault and meant it. At least both boys hadn't been lost.

John goes back to the lobby and asks if Dean would like to meet his two new brothers.

Dean is craning his neck to see the tiny little fussing infant laying in the plastic case box. He's been staring for a long time now, unable to move or look away. Unable to want to. He wishes he could go sing to his new baby brother. He keeps crying like he knows that there's been dying going on. Like he can feel the loss and knows he's the only one alive.

When they finally move it's to go see the brother that Mommy borned. This one doesn't cry. Or breath or move or live. Dean holds him carefully anyway, loves him just as much as Mommy and Daddy and his other two brother's. He loves him so much that he can't do anything but hold him and watch him. After a while the nurse lady says he has to say goodbye. He kisses his baby brother's forehead for the first and last time and whispers his farewell.

Daddy says that the other Mommy and Daddy don't want him to meet his other baby brother that's not alive because they don't think it'd be right. Dean wishes he could, wants to hold him and love him and say good bye. But Daddy just shakes his head and scoops him up in his arms, murmuring quietly that they can go see Mommy now.

Dean hopes briefly that he'll get to hold his living brother soon and lets his father take him to where Mommy is. On the way Daddy tells him that the brother he just met was named Nick.

He prays God lets Nick into heaven.

When Mary meets her new son she's no longer hungover with fatigue and morphine so she understands that the baby they bring her is the one she and John adopted. But it still feels right to hold him in her arms, makes her smile when those ever wandering eyes land and stay on her. He's just as beautiful as Dean and Nicholas were and are and she can't help the little chuckle she gives when he stops fussing and babbles happily in her arms.

"That's right, Sammy, you know your mommy, don't you?" she expects her voice to be more wrecked than this but she's cooing and chirping like a pro, making the baby laugh along with her.

"Sammy?" both John and Dean ask at once, and it's Dean who doesn't look away from the baby to stare at her with a raised eyebrow. He's enamored with his little brother, finger trapped in Sammy's grip and hand wrapped around the tiny fist like it's meant to be.

"Yes, he's going to be Samuel John Winchester. Is that okay?" Mary doesn't think it will be, and soon they're all just sitting around playing and talking with Sammy.

He stays with them until it's time for him to go back to the nursery.

Mary starts behaving strangely about a month after Sam and her come back from the hospital. At first she seemed fine, but as the days went she started acting...not like herself. After calling her Doctor about it he was given the term postpartum depression. After a postnatal check up they confirmed the diagnosis and said it was a minor but worrying case. Something about how Mary thought that Sam was her baby, that she had given birth to him.

Even Dean was aware that something was wrong with his mother, worriedly following her about the house (though these days she stayed mostly in Sam's baby room) and watch her with troubled green eyes.

But after she started taking the medicine she began getting better, acting more like herself. And for five, beautiful months she got better. She began smiling like she used to, laughing like she used to, and John thought he didn't have to worry anymore.

And then that night. That one night when all went wrong and life was unfair once again.

That night John woke to the smell of smoke. It was thick and the he realized that Dean was next to the bed shaking him and babbling terrified statements with his eyes wide and tears streaming down his face.

"Daddy, it's Momma she...and Sammy, you gotta help...f-fire...and I can't get her to come out and Daddy you need to do something it's everywhere..."

John's moving and in the nursery before he can think. Under the thick smell of smoke he can smell something else. Like wax and lavender. And then he sees Mary, standing over the crib calm as could be, muttering soft sweet words down to her baby boy. John rushes forward, lifts Sam from his bed and brings him over to Dean in one blink.

"Take Sammy and run, get out of the house!" Dean looks up at him with wide, helpless eyes but he nods and determination shifts across his face and then he's gone. John can hear it when the front door bangs open and knows his boys are safe.

He turns to Mary, still looking down into the crib. "He wouldn't settle. I tried to rock him, I tried singing...he was just so upset, so I lit the candles," John looks over to the three lavender candles sitting on the window sill, flames lapping at the curtains and up and up and up... "and now he's all quiet. My baby boy, so good when he's happy, yes he is..."

John doesn't ever come out of the house. Dean stands cold and waiting on the curb, watches blindly as fire trucks and ambulances and the police show up. Can't really think past waiting for John. Daddy.

He barely notices when he's moved, now in a different place. It's sad here, he can feel it, but he doesn't really understand past that. A lot happens and then he's in another sad place. He stays there a long time. He doesn't know how long, maybe a month maybe a year, but then he notices something's gone.

Something important.

At first a vague shadow of a picture comes to mind, but then it flickers away. But he knows it's important. The most important. Something that's like his heart but not with him. It's gone. Lost.

Dean runs away from the sad place to go find it.

* * *

><p>EN: btw, if you can guess why i named the lost baby what i did i'll do something special~


	11. FREEEK!

A/N: so...HAPPY NEW YEAR! this was gonna come sooner, but my beta had technical difficulties and couldn't edit. so i did. also, song featured here is by George Micheal.  
>(also, the editer thing keeps stealing the line spaces...dunno why...sorry bout that...)<p>

happy reading, yo!

Chapter Title: FREEEK!  
>Series: Supernatural<br>Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, mentions of Sam/Gabriel, Harley and Sadie  
>Summary: AU set in a world where human trafficking and such related thing are an excepted part of society. prostitute!Dean, Wincest, all the good stuff<br>Warnings: there's gonna be stuff. mentions of noncon, underage, rough sex, kinky things, bdsm, underage, actual plot (wutwut), sex, CBT, crossdressing (?), character death (past), human slavery (if you didn't get that by now then wow)... this list's probably gonna grow with each chap so hold on to your hats.

* * *

><p><em>You got yourself some action<em>

_Said you got yourself a body_

_You got yourself an ass with a mind of it's own_

_Brings something to the party_

_You got yourself addicted_

_You shoot up, it saves you time_

_You got yourself a paycheck_

_Faces on the places where the sun don't shine_

_I'll be your sexual freak of the week_

_I'll be your inspirational brother_

_Yo mama can't you see_

_I'll be your sexual freak of the week_

_I'll be your educational lover_

_Your one fuck Fantasy_

The music blares through the dark club, spot lights bringing the small stage to life and illuminating a golden cage with a petite, curvacious female locked inside. She writhed and twisted and danced to the music, putting on quite the show for the ravenous men seated around her.

_You got yourself some action_

_Said you got your sexy Java_

_You got your speed connection_

_Free chat, fuck that, get a little harder_

_You got yourself a big bed_

_You shoot off, take your time_

_In the house with a bitch and a mouse_

_And your daddy's plastic how fantastic yeah_

_I'll be your sexual freak of the week_

_I'll be your inspirational brother_

_Yo mama can't you see_

_I'll be your sexual freak of the week_

_I'll be your educational lover_

_Your one fuck Fantasy_

Arching back, the girl pressed her naked chest to the cool bars at the top of the cage, shivering lightly and licking the cheap metal. She was good at this, raised and trained to do it. It was her purpose, her command, her life.

He could tell she was only around his age.

A small, insignificant child was huddled next to the bar, shoved in a corner and hidden by darkness. The boy was waiting for the bartender, a nice man, to bring him a drink. He'd said he could spare him some milk since no one drank it anyway and it was going bad in a few days. The boy didn't care, he just needed something to drink, have something in his stomach. He was so hungry...

_Sexual freak._

_Inspirational brother_

_You got yourself some action_

_Said you got yourself a body_

_You got yourself an ass with a mind of it's own_

_Brings something to the party_

_Come on kids, don't be scared_

_It's a tits and ass world you gotta be prepared_

_Come on kids, don't be scared_

_It's a tits and ass world you gotta be prepared_

_Come on kids,_

_You know your mama and your daddy don't care_

_Don't be scared,_

_It's a tits and ass world you gotta be prepared_

As the song ended the bartender finally came over, smiling kindly at him and handing him a cold glass of milk. The boy was glad, not only for the drink, but that the song was done. He glanced back at the stage, wincing as the cage was unlocked and the men descended upon her. Seems they were inspired by the song...

"Hey mister, they'll be nice to her, right?" he tears his eyes away from the scene, turning them up to the man that was looking at him with a pitying look that was all the answer he needed. He took a sip, making a face at the way it made his mouth tack together, smacking his lips a couple times before taking a couple more drinks.

"Say, what's your name anyway, kid?" the bartender looked along the bar, signaling that he'd be with his customers in a second.

"My...it's Dean. Dean Winchester." he doesn't know why the name makes him wanna stick out his chest in pride, but he figures it's the fact that it's the only thing he really remembers about himself. He's drinking the milk without thought now, swallowing down the almost sweet beverage like it's a miracle.

The man walks away, back to his job, and Dean feels his eyes grow heavy. He's sleepy, really sleepy, and he wonders if maybe the bartender will let him sleep in one of those private rooms with beds that smell like sweat and tears and something else he doesn't know. His thinking doesn't get far because the wall behind him is moving and it takes a moment to figure out that it's him moving, slumping and sliding down it's crappy wallpaper.

The lights dim way down low and his brain sounds like a dial tone, getting higher and higher in pitch until it's not a tone anymore, just the sound of silence ringing in his ears and everything's muffled, his sight his smell his taste his breath his hearing...everything. He can't tell what's wrong, can't think with the ringing pleasemakeitstop and he vaguely registers that he's now on something soft.

Bed, it's a bed. At least he thinks it is, can't tell, the world is still ringing and muffled around him. It's not the floor, that he...something's touching him. There, at his feet. Oh, it's moved. Whatever it is is really fast. Now it's around his hips. And now his arms. Is he colder now?

The lull breaks slightly when warmth presses against his stomach, worming along his skin and leaving a fire it it's wake. Is he naked now? Why? Something warmer, almost unbearably hot surrounds and rubs one of his nipples. He thinks he makes a noise, hard to tell when the world sounds like nothing.

He can't move, just feels, and the touches are startling to make him wish he could squirm. They're goodnastywonderfuldisgusting and he just wants to getawaypleasemoredon'tstop. More touches start, all over his body, rough and tender, hot and warm, and he knows he whimpers when the hot is on his privates. The bed's not against his back anymore and he thinks maybe he's moving like the girl did, the one that was his age, who danced to the bad song.

A sound then, not the ringing and it blurbles in his head, rattling around until it gradually makes sense.

"There's a good boy, likes it when his cock gets sucked." the voice is unfamiliar and approving, and the hot returns to his privates, swallowing him entirely and making him writhe with a sob. No no no nonononononononono! Stop, please, don't, not me, I don't wanna be like the girl STOP!

He's screaming in his head, but all that comes out are begs and pleads for moreyesgivememore. More hot, all over, more touching, dirty touches that make him moan and shed tears. He doesn't know why he's crying, can't decide between shame fear disgust or pleasure. Whatever the reason the voice speaks again.

"Look at that, such a pretty boy, crying for more. Is that it, sweetheart, you wanna feel even better?" Dean nods, doesn't know why, maybe cause the man might let him go if he does. His head's spinning and too dizzy to know.

Finally he opens his eyes, color and vision blurred at first but soon he can just make out the face of the person sucking on his (what's that word again?) cock and he cries some more.

The bartender. He's the one touching him the most intamatesickohgodatleastit'shim and Dean moans when they lock eyes and the man digs his tongue in the hole at the end of his cock. He writhes back against the sheets, panting and sobbing as he vaguely notices the other men who were touching him aren't anymore, all leaving for some reason helpsomebodypleasehelpme.

The mouth on his cock is gone and he curses the whimper that falls from his mouth. He shouldn't want this, it's dirtywrongbad but now the man's leaning over him, a smile on his face that's still so warm and kind like when he gave Dean the milk.

"Guess what, Dean? Since I'm the one that called dibs last time, I get to make you feel good. Just me," the bartender strokes Dean's cheek, a tender gesture that contrasts harshly with everything, "ain't that great, baby boy?" his voice is warm, makes Dean wanna lean into it like a touch. He nods his head because even now, he wants to trust the man.

* * *

><p>Dean wakes up in a cold sweat, eyes wide and panic stricken with the ghost memory of lips pressed against his and hands and the body that took away his ability to trust. He wished he hadn't dreamt of that. Not now. Now he has Sammy. The past shouldn't be haunting him like this.<p>

Well, the past can just go fuck itself.

He sits up, scrubbing his hands over his face and feels the bed cold next to him. Brow furrowing, he looks to see the space next to him empty, the cold light of morning casting a melancholy hue into the room. Looking at the bedside clock, he sees it's only seven o'clock in the morning and groans quietly as he flops back to the bed, staring with sulky discontent at the pillow next to his and deciding with childish stubbornness that he wasn't going to go looking for Sam.

Five seconds later he's padding down the stairs to find his lost master and see why he left him cold and alone. Perking when he hears Sam's voice, low and quiet coming from the living room. Peeking around the corner, he sees his master hunched forward on the couch, a hand up to his face and the other cradling his brow. Even from the back Dean could tell he was stressed, a frown curving his lips as he paced forward.

"No, mom, I'm not avoiding you...I just needed time to...right...but I needed to help him settle in!" Sam huffs out a tired sigh, the phone Dean now knows he's talking on switching ears. He can hear the woman on the other end, tone worried and almost demanding as she gives her reply.

"I know that, but if I had just bought him and threw him in with all of you without any warning he probably wouldn't have taken it very well!...yeah, sure, you guys are TOTALLY the best thing to throw at a guy who comes from the very system you're so against. Great idea, that totally wouldn't have made him feel bad." Sam shifts, pushing up off the couch and rounding the coffee table, standing in front of the fireplace and pinching the bridge of his nose.

After a quick reply, Sam seems to get angry, spinning around with a yelled response on his lips that dies when he locks eyes with Dean. Sam seems to deflate, anger flooding out of him as he changes his answer. "Fine, whatever. Look, I need to call you back."

A short pause for the reply, then, "Dean needs me." before lowering the phone and pressing the 'End Call' button on the screen, slipping it into his pocket. They stand there, staring for a while, and Dean realizes that at some point he had come to stand in the middle of the open archway between the living room and breezeway. The hard wood floors are cold under his feet and he wonders if he remembered to put something on. He does forget sometimes.

"Morning." Sam blinks at the greeting, still caught up with staring at Dean with those incredibly gorgeous eyes of his and making Dean bite at his lower lip. "I woke up and you weren't there, so I...I'm sorry for eaves dropping sir, I hadn't meant to." the response is the only one he can think of, still too shaken from the nightmare and the way Sam's looking at him to think up anything better. He's positive there's going to be a punishment, and he can't remember if that's a good thing.

It's just those deep hazel eyes that are getting closer, their owner walking toward him slowly. Dean braces himself, this is when they slap him, this is when they yell and scream and hurt and he'll have to go under the knife again to correct the scars, agency workers tutting under their breath when he passes them in the hall. Sam's hand begins to raise and he holds himself in place, keeping his eyes locked with Sam's. That's right, if it's Sam he wont mind. Sam'll probably slap his big hand across his face and then drag him by the hair up stairs and fuck him till he cries...

Dean's not expecting his master to pull him into an embrace, didn't know he was trembling until the taller man's body is pressed against his, feeling now that he did in fact forget pants again. He shivers against the warmth, so cold he can't breathe and something that sounds like a sob escapes his throat.

"Ssshhhh, hey, s'okay, baby." Sam's so warm, a hand petting through his hair and Dean clings to that warmth, arms slinging around his waist and shakily clinging for dear life. "I just got a call from my mom, didn't leave you, s'okay."

They stay like that for a while, Sam softly comforting Dean until the tears were gone and soft whispers turn into soft kisses. It's somehow still so sweet and devoid of harm and lust that Dean nearly melts out of his skin. He's pretty sure he might, especially if Sammy said he wanted him to.

"So your mother wants to visit?" Dean's straddled in his master's lap, hugging his neck and clinging to him like a child might, an insisted position that Dean's becoming fonder of by the minute. He can feel every movement Sam makes like this, their bodies pressed so close.

"Yeah, grumbly old woman she is." Sam leans a little forward to shovel a fork full of delicious breakfast omelet into his mouth.

"...So why can't she?" Sam nearly chokes on his bite, Dean patting his back and leaning back to look at him worriedly.

"Because," Sam reaches forward and drags Dean back against him, not ready to be parted from him yet, "the soul purpose is to meet you."

Dean snuggles back against his master, head tilting with befuddlement at his words. Why would she come for him? And again, why was this upsetting Sammy so much? "I still don't get it."

The larger man sighs, petting his fingers through Dean's hair. "My mother is against the Slavery law." After glancing at Dean's still confused expression, he circled an arm around his lover's waist and brought his other hand up to tug lightly at Dean's collar. "You're my slave, at least by law. To her, all she'll see when she looks at us will be a pet and it's master, her son. She wont listen to me about how I don't see you that way, that you're not just a toy I bought in full."

Dean watches Sam's eyes grow sad and frustrated, leaning up to kiss him. "So why don't we show her?"


End file.
